The Templar and the Assassin
by Jeralee
Summary: Set during AC4. Spoilers for earlier sequences. Julien du Casse encounters a female assassin who is trying to locate the Sage in Havana. Julien x OC.
1. Chapter 1

**SPOILERS!** If you haven't played AC4 and haven't gotten up to the part when you arrive at Great Inagua, then this story will ruin the game as I want this story to be based around the events until then.

I didn't think I'd be writing again. I recently finished a fic and thought I'd go on break but then this popped up; I haven't actually finished AC4 yet; personally I find AC4 more fun than AC3 (the only AC game I couldn't complete. I think I was up to the part when I had to chase Thomas Hickey and I just couldn't for some reason) and I do like plundering ships lol. At first I was terrible at it and when you have to destroy the two brigs and get 70 metal I was like WTF I can't do this but now I am destroying all sorts of frigates and schooners haha, but I enjoyed and have played all the AC games, and the AC2 extra games from Brotherhood to Revelations but they can't seem to top AC2.

Also, I guess I am the only one who kinda likes Julien du Casse? I know, he's a Templar, and the Templars are the bad guys but for an AC character, especially a Templar, I thought he was quite cool and felt as though they had really invested in his character design but when he died so early in the game with little to his story/character/personality and with little impact to the plot I was a little distraught. There is also no character filter in this fanfic board, either, so I've not pt this fic under anyone.

Anyways, so this is a story about a Templar and a female Assassin. I hope you enjoy.

Be warned for OOC, Mary Sue, cheesy dialogue (because I really didn't know how to write conversation in the 1700s so resorted to the Declaration of Independence and letters written by Benjamin Franklin)

* * *

**LIVELY HAVANA**

* * *

She stared at the grotesque display before her. _The Saracen Head_ was an unassuming tavern by day and brothel by night. Dressed in a dull, pale blue gown with the majority of her bodice and sleeves deliberately trimmed and hemmed by Madame Rose in order to capture the wandering gaze of any gentlemen she came across and hopefully earn some coin from the encounter, she stood rigidly amidst the merriment and joy with her arms crossed over her chest. She watched the scene before her a little uneasily; at least every male in the tavern had a woman perched in their laps. The only women who were unoccupied would be herself, some dancers and the songstress on stage. Even then they had a few male admirers in the crowd. She was alone, not that she really minded.

The stench of rum mingled with sweat and seawater was thick and heavy in the atmosphere. Pungent, and not in the good sort, either. The usual acrid, humid weather of Havana was difficult in getting used to and the viscous aroma was enough to make her gag. Music assaulted her in one ear and the other was constantly harassed by the din that consisted of obnoxious laughing and obscene language from the patrons. She certainly didn't belong here, not in this horrible, dreadful hellhole. Now the most fathomless, deepest and darkest pits of Dry Tortuga seemed a heavenly locality compared to this rut.

It had been a couple of hours into the night by now and still she made no move. Madame Rose's warning words echoed thoroughly as she contemplated her predicament. Her goal was at least five hundred Reales to-night. Considering how the other girls often made more than a thousand, she pondered how she was supposed to approach this. How did one employed in her line of business go around anyway? She assumed she would have to approach someone and seduce them, _somehow_...but it could not be anybody. It had be a man of true wealth, otherwise it would be a waste of time to go after the smaller fish. There should be plenty of big fish in the ocean, she hoped, as the saying goes. Yet the more she glanced around the tavern, the more she realized the patrons merely consisted of commoners and peasants. The occupations of these men appeared to range from farmer, miner, plantation workers and pier workers; there was no doubt they frequented this tavern to escape the harsh realities of their occupations and perhaps, the nagging wife. The turnout was disappointing to say the least.

She silently searched through the rest of the tavern with her eyes, sifting through the undesirables, and eventually sought the one. He was a man sitting on his lonesome at a table, dressed in red and gold, the colors of the rich and noble. She scrutinized the garb he was adorned in; his waistcoat was silk, spun finely with elaborate embroidery whilst the woollen tricorn hat that was sitting over his wig was decorated lavishly with cockades. Perhaps he was dressed too finely for this night. The two men standing behind him answered her query; they were guards, and she saw that they appeared keen to leave his side to indulge in the huge amount of female company on offer. The choices were endless. With her prey in mind, she made her move immediately, abandoning her post. A man of his status would not be alone for too long, and she was determined to get to him first before anyone else could.

It seemed the man saw her coming. He had been drinking rum but put down the dirty green bottle as soon as she arrived at his table and he greeted her with a sleazy grin and glance that swept her down, head to toe. She started to work, doing exactly what Madame Rose and the girls had taught her. She flirted, smiled at him coyly, batted her eyelashes. It was disgusting but unfortunately mandatory and within three minutes or less in her efforts, she had succeeded in getting what she wanted, for he wiped at his mouth using the back of his palm and grinned whilst the two bodyguards eyed her a little longingly but nonetheless remained silent as their master beckoned her over to join him. She feigned joy at his invitation with little difficulty and there was a spare seat she could have sat down but she chose his lap, much to his delight. She leaned forwards then, deliberately exposing more skin for his eyes to see, her lips brushing over his face teasingly before she whispered in his ear. She wanted to be with him alone.

He agreed and she stood up. Drunkenly, he barked orders to his guards. Stay here, he ordered, then he left his guards where they were; they exchanged looks before grinning, having been allowed to partake in as much sin as they were allowed since the Master was going to indulge in a little himself.

She led him out of the tavern and onto the porch; they passed couples locked in intimate embrace but she daren't look. Although the tavern was loud and noisy, the night was quiet and calm, and maybe, just maybe, he could hear the frantic pounding of her heart as she made her way to a quiet spot with the man at her heels.

* * *

Meanwhile, Julien du Casse arrived at the Saracen Head; it was not his favorite place in Havana but he had a meeting and he was meant to see the man he would be doing business with here. It was a contract; two thousand Reales included. One hit. Overall, it meant easy money. He entered the establishment silently; from a distance away he could already hear lively, jaunty tunes being belted out into the atmosphere, loud and proud, accompanied by raucous laughter from the drunks inside.

The women were pretty but they didn't seem any different than the many filthy, disease-ridden rats he'd seen scurrying below the deck of the ship he used in order to reach Havana. One of the dancers had saw him and ogled him, instantly taking a fancy. Julien du Casse was a tall man with dark hair, a sturdy, strong build, broad shoulders and chest, something which he'd come to realize was the stuff of many women's fantasies as he'd had his fair share of adoring, female attention no matter where he went. Despite his rugged and gruff features, he was quite the well-spoken man, and his choice of red cloak only served to fan the flames, with many women being tricked and charmed by his gallant, heroic expose. In the West Indies, chivalry was long dead, not with the pirates prowling the seas, hungry for rum and sugar and other goods they could get their hands on from the ships they'd doomed.

Now, this woman, this dancer, had tried to speak to him, entice him with her exposed cleavage and long legs; he merely brushed her away politely and tilted his hat, keeping his eyes trained on the ground, his head low. Best not to draw attention, considering that his work as a hired gun meant he did unfortunately have enemies now and then. Meeting one here certainly wouldn't be helpful. His client had asked him to see him at the back in one of the rooms that could be reserved; Julien strolled past the tavern floor to reach his destination, avoiding the crowd and eventually arrived at the back of the tavern.

However, when he rounded the corner, a girl in a blue frock came running out from nowhere, and she slammed into him with such force that he took one step back whilst the girl went careening. She went bounding backwards from the recoil; however, he grabbed her arm and effectively prevented her from falling; the girl glanced up, stunned, before her gaze dipped to his hand on her wrist.

The girl looked the youngest out of all the women he'd seen in this tavern. He noticed that she appeared bruised and that her lip was bleeding. To further add to her injured state, her hair was a mess - a pin that had been keeping her hair up (most likely in a bun) had come loose and her thick, chestnut brown locks were tumbling over her back. She also appeared to be trying to hold up her dress which had been rigorously torn at the shoulders, and at first, he stared, at the milky cream shoulder it exposed and the porcelain arm clutching at one tattered shoulder strap. When he managed to tear his eyes away, he cleared his throat, let go of her wrist. She used her freed hand to pull the other broken strap further over herself.

"Are you alright, Miss?" He asked, yet he received no reply for a man had come racing towards them, his face red and vivid with fury with a wig that was in danger in falling off his head.

"_Whore!_ Get back here this instant!"

The girl let out a squeak of horror as the man grabbed her and as she spun round, he slapped her squarely across the face. She cried out, dropping to the floor. Julien watched at first, before deciding to step in; he took her by the arm and lifted her onto her feet. In seconds, he had pulled the girl behind him and shoved the offending man away before he could lunge himself at the poor girl. She was trembling as she kept herself covered, both hands crossed over her bosom protectively. Turning to the agitated man in front of him, Julien said, "What seems to be the problem here?"

"The girl. Give me the girl!"

"Perhaps we shall let the mademoiselle decide?" He threw his glance to the girl hiding behind him, "Do you want to go with this man?"

She shook her head fiercely.

Turning to the man, Julien said, "There is your answer; I do not think she wants to go with you, monsieur." He replied, his lips curling into a smirk.

"Shut up, blighted fool!" The man was trying to grapple at Julien's back in a bid to reach the girl who backed away from his hands in fear. "Whore! I'll_ kill_ you!" The man snapped, before he attempted to wedge himself in between Julien and the girl; however, Julien was quicker, anticipating the man and further maneuvering her behind him, keeping her safe by using himself as a shield. The girl could only stare up at him in muted shock, surprised that he was _helping_ her despite her occupation and status which he was clearly aware of. "Out of the way, Frenchman, or else I shall-"

"Ah, yes, please do try." du Casse cut him short, brandishing his pistol from the holster, making the man to take a few steps backwards in fright.

"W-what! Do you not know who I am?!"

"_Judge Stevenson_, j'ai raison, n'est-ce pas? I do believe your presence here in this very tavern will certainly make the unassuming public question your authority should anyone see you."

"Y-you!" The man named Stevenson croaked out with a wavering finger that was pointing angrily at du Casse's direction; however, she could tell that he was opting to retreat, obviously too afraid to take on Julien. "Fine! You can have her!"

Without another word, Stevenson had turned on his heel, dashing away from the corridor and out of the tavern. Julien and the girl was alone. Once the threat was over, he turned to her and withdrew his pistol into its holster at the front of his belt. Their eyes met and she was staring at him inquisitively. "Um...Thank you." She muttered wobbly, "Thank you for helping me."

"You are mistaken; it was not an act of benevolence, mademoiselle."

"Then why did you help me?"

"Sympathy." He replied, which caused her eyebrows to furrow deeply in response, "I also find it abhorrent to witness a man causing harm to a woman. _Dégoûtant._" He lifted his hand to his own lip; she mirrored his actions and her fingertips brushed over her bust, bleeding lip. "You need to see a doctor. I know a man who can help."

She shook her head, "No, I am fine. I did not need your help. I certainly did not ask for it."

"You could have been killed." He pointed out languidly, and he was met with a scowl that was aimed at his direction. He'd never met a woman this bold before.

"Then you should have let me be killed."

He grunted under his breath as he contemplated her words, "Hm. Perhaps I should have, if this is the gratitude I receive."

"You-" She snapped as she lowered her arms from her chest; immediately, the dress drooped and she gasped, hands flying to grasp the straps, clutching them tightly.

He watched her from the bottom of his eyes; she was a pretty thing, he admitted. Pretty and young, with her tousled dark hair and her long face and sharp features. Her eyes were as blue as sapphires, glinting dully in the dark. Her skin was not as dark as the other ladies in Havana, which he found strange considering the strong sunlight all day long, although where she was holding the dress, he saw the difference in skin color and knew she had at least spent hours outside like the other girls he'd seen in the streets, dancing in groups of four. When she noticed that he was looking at her, she squinted her eye at him suspiciously and further crossed her arms over herself protectively. He looked away, having realized that he'd been looking at her for a little longer than he should have and that the girl had known all too well.

"You best pray that Judge Stevenson does not remember your face," Julien added, "He is a man known to be a bearer of many grudges. Those brave enough to cross his path...he swears to make their lives hell."

"Yes, I know." She replied dourly, "You best pray he does not remember _your_ face."

She took this time to study him in greater detail; du Casse certainly did live to the image of an intimidating hired gun, with his rough face and those scars, remnants of the tough battles and raging wars he'd participated in. He glanced at her and chuckled again, amused by her retort, "That man is welcome to do whatever he pleases." He remarked, playing around the holster of his pistol with his fingers.

The girl made a noise that had him questioning if she was scorning him, "Then I shall look forward in seeing you alive, hopefully by the end of the week. If I see you and it has been a month, then by all means I shall come and congratulate you."

"Congratulate? You should make it more interesting, mademoiselle." Julien said with a grin, "Perhaps you should dance for me instead of those _scelerat_ inside?"

"Pig!" She snarled at him, and she made a move to leave for she had no desire to continue with this conversation anymore; however, he stood in front of her, blocking her means of exit. "Please move."

He sidestepped with his arm out, silently granting her a path. She stormed past him, nose in the air. It was intriguing a whore possessed a defiant attitude like hers, considering her occupation and status. This creature fascinated him a little, although he dare not surrender himself in the face of brief temptation. He watched her retreating back as she stomped down the corridor, before the hem of her dress accidentally got caught in the heel of her shoe and she stumbled slightly. She would have tripped over and fallen had she not grabbed hold of one of the wooden beams for support. Julien let out a bark of laughter at the sight and she turned round, humiliated and mortified. With a huff, she regained her balance as quickly as she could, bundled up her dress with her fists, bunched fabric between clenched fingers and proceeded to march as hastily as she could.

"Mademoiselle," He called after her, and she turned round, albeit jadedly, "What is your name?"

She frowned. "Piss off."

This only served to make him laugh even harder.

* * *

The girl stalked through the streets of Havana, rubbing at the bruise on her cheek. She'd smothered away the blood from the corner of her mouth and tidied at her hair but it still did not serve to alleviate the mood. She'd removed her ridiculous shoes and pulled on a cloak to cover the heinous gown they'd forced her to wear that had made her clumsy and feeling downright foolish, before pulling the hood over her head. The streets were sparse as she left the tavern, which she was thankful for, but she saw guards patrolling and knew they were looking for her. Judge Stevenson had decided to hold a grudge, after all.

She resorted to the rooftops for sanctuary and for safe passage in order to reach her destination, crouching and tiptoeing over the tiles as nimbly and quietly as she could; she avoided the watchful gaze of the guards and leapt from building to building when their backs were turned and noiselessly leapt off a large edifice and into the shrubbery below, rolling to cushion the blow. She got back up in a low crouch, then made her way into a small garden, climbing over the fence and making sure that her dress did not get caught in the splintered wood. Exhausted, she checked if she was safe, then dashed towards a wooden cage built beside the shack and opened the door.

She was surprised to see no pigeon resting inside. Someone must have had seen the coop and accepted a contract. She said nothing but was somewhat relieved; her attempt to take the life of the corrupt Judge Ebenezer Stevenson ended in failure since he was still alive and very much aware of her identity. And then there was Julien du Casse. She hadn't realized a Templar would be in the tavern to-night; if he had found out her identity (he was very close to in finding out), he could have killed her right on the spot, or maybe she should have killed him on the spot.

_No, I have orders. _She thought, closing the hatch of the empty pigeon coop,_ I must locate the Sage. Until then, I cannot draw any attention to myself._

She hoped she would never see du Casse again.

How wrong she was.

* * *

Hope you liked it! I have no idea why I am writing this! Should I continue? I have not seen ANY Julien x OC fics so I guess he's that unpopular and he did look quite scary when he died so must have turned a lot off. But yeah, the OC is an assassin posing as a dancer and she was trying to kill the Judge but she failed (feels kinda Mary Sue-ish lol). But anyway, I thought I'd write this since he's a character I wanted to see more of.


	2. Chapter 2

I have some alerts and a fav! Awesome! Ok I guess that got me to write more hehe since I know some people are interested in my fic :) Please enjoy the second chapter ~

* * *

**CHARLOTTE**

* * *

_WHAM._

"Too low. Aim higher!"

_WHAM._

"You missed! Focus!"

_WHAM._

"Too weak. More power!"

_WHAM._

The final throwing knife went soaring through the air and the blade embedded violently into the head of the straw dummy; the dummy tipped backwards from the force, the hilt of the knife vibrating ferociously before it gradually came to a stop. The knife in the head was not the only one in the dummy; the other knives had landed at strategic areas of the body – in particular, the heart and the neck. She stood behind the white line with her arm outstretched, panting.

"You have forgotten my words again, Charlotte." muttered her Mentor, who maneuvered from the sidelines and into the firing line. He sauntered to the dummy and pulled out the blades, heaving slightly with the one that was stuck in the head, "Out of the several throws, you missed twice. We will continue with your throwing practice again in noon to hone your accuracy. Now, I want to see your running assassination technique. Remember to keep your back poised, arms out, blades low."

She straightened herself and bowed her head in respect as he passed her and returned to the weapon rack, depositing the blades into the box. "Yes, Master. Thank you, Master. Sorry, Master. I will fare better next time, Master." She uttered quickly. He said nothing in response to her relentless apologies and she did not dare look up at him as he strode past her. Her Mentor was a bulky, tall man who kept his face usually hidden by the hood, although whenever she would look up at him, she would always see a frowning visage and the daunting scar that ran from his neck up to the side of his face. His intimidating features complimented the gruff voice and the amount of hardcore training he'd subjected her to.

Her Mentor readied the next straw dummy and gestured for her to get ready. She swallowed down, checked if her blades were working by ejecting them from their holsters before sheathing them back inside with a quick 'fwoosh'. She moved herself into a stance, readying herself for the run and concentrated on the strawman before her a distance away. She narrowed her eyes, focusing her gaze on the head of the dummy and as she started running, a familiar man's face suddenly popped up into her mind; it was an unshaven, rough face carrying a sly but jovial grin. It was the face of Julien du Casse, and Charlotte faltered in mid-step, stopping all at once.

"What's the matter?" barked the Mentor, "Why have you stopped?"

She didn't know, but she stood, wide-eyed and blinking wordlessly into space. The image of du Casse's face in her mind quickly disappeared as soon as it had appeared. Had she been _thinking _about him?

"What are you doing? Go back to the starting line! Try again!"

Charlotte finally moved into action. "Ah, y-yes, of course, Master. Sorry, Master."

Without another word, she returned to her spot meekly, head low. However, before Charlotte could begin her second attempt at the running assassination, she was interrupted by footsteps and both assassins glanced over to see a woman with a round face and light brown hair that was tied messily with a red scarf standing with her arms crossed, watching them with a smile on her face.

"What's wi' all the yelling, Byron?"

"Rhona." said Mentor, frowning somewhat at her uncalled arrival. "Why are you here?"

"Och, no, don't mind me. I just wanted tae see how ye train yer apprentices."

"A blend of strict discipline, rules, and hours of practice." grunted Byron, "If you haven't noticed, I am assessing Charlotte's skills at the moment."

"Aye, I know. I'll be gone soon. D'ye mind if I talk to Lottie for a bit though? It's important."

Byron nodded. "Fine. Then speak."

Rhona sighed, placing her hands on her hips as she turned to Charlotte. "Honest to God, I swear yer as cheerful as a wet blanket. Right, Lottie?"

Charlotte was too afraid to agree.

"Anyway, I just wanted to talk tae ye about Judge Ebenezer Stevenson."

"There is nothing to talk about." Byron interjected, "A man made an advance towards her of a sexual nature last night and she was seized by fear, thus obscuring her resolve. I suppose it could not be helped. Charlotte has been raised by the Order and has always abided by our rules. The relations surrounding a man and a woman has never been her concern or brought to her attention. She was unfamiliar therefore found herself unused and uncomfortable in such a situation. This mission should not have been placed upon her shoulders in the first instance."

"Byron! Honestly. Yer makin' her sound like a wooden plank or something. Sometimes I cannae understand why ye have to talk like that."

Charlotte faltered regardless, averting her gaze from her mentor to the Bureau leader, "It is the truth. I am sorry. I failed last night." She croaked out, and her cheeks went red with shame.

"Cheer up, lass." Rhona walked over and patted her on the arm reassuringly, "Not tae worry, Ah've decided tae ask ol' Byron here tae finish the job anyway. He'd get it done in a tick. Ain't that right?" Whilst Byron nodded, Rhona added, "Listen up. You cannae afford to mess up like that again. What happened, eh? Did you get stage fright?"

"I was not quick enough. He is a weak man and I had him alone, but I struggled with my blade. I am sorry. When he advanced on me, I...I could not move."

"Listen Lottie, it's alright. Yer still young; ye still got lots to learn. There's another thing I had wanted to speak tae ye about though. _Julien du Casse_."

Immediately, Charlotte stiffened in her spot upon hearing the name, her heart was beginning to pound harder than usual. "...Er...Julien du Casse...?"

"Aye, I heard ye were seen speaking tae him at some point. Care to share?"

Charlotte began babbling abruptly, "It was nothing. He was at the tavern at the same time I was, and when I failed to kill Stevenson, I had attempted to flee but then I bumped into du Casse. It was an accident, no more. I exchanged a few words with him but nothing of importance nor did I give away my true identity. Um...He defended me from Stevenson."

"Defended? Ye mean he helped you? He saved ye from him?"

"Erm...w-well, when I had attempted to flee, Stevenson caught up with me. Had it not been du Casse, I...I may not have been able to return here. Earnestly, nothing happened between us...He merely thought I was a lowly dancer harassed by Stevenson and he only assisted me as he loathed to see a woman hurt. Those were his words. I swear it shall not happen again."

"It better no'. I heard that hired gun is in league with Torres. I see no ring on his finger but he's often seen havin' a drink with the Spanishman every now and then. No doubt, he's one of them. A _Templar_. In other words, we'll be keepin' a close eye on him."

"Yes." Charlotte agreed.

"And how does the pigeon coop look?"

"It was empty when I checked last night."

"Hm, so someone has accepted a contract, it seems. It's the second time this week. Wonder who this mystery chap is. Since we're still trying to find Roberts, you should return to the streets, and when you come back, tell me what you see and hear."

"Yes, of course."

"Aye, so fer now, no more assassinations." Rhona said, "Just stay put and do some espionage. Leave Byron wi' the killings."

Charlotte nodded, "I understand. I will do everything I can to find Roberts' location."

...

The Saracen Head was surprisingly empty during the day; Julien du Casse returned only to see various servants cleaning, polishing and sweeping away at dust and leaves. Meanwhile other servants had the grim job of scrubbing off the vomit that was staining a dank corner of the tavern. The owner stood behind the counter, scrubbing at a green bottle which would be used to fill up more rum to an unsuspecting customer and as Julien approached, the man put down the bottle and eyed him from head to toe.

"What can I get for ye?" grunted the tender.

Last night and he'd been thinking about the girl he'd encountered. It was not in a romantic way necessarily but more out of genuine concern. Needless to say, he _did_ leave her unescorted. That had not been exactly a good idea since it didn't entirely bode well for girls wandering the streets at unsociable hours in the middle of the night on their own. As he pondered, he shifted in his spot, squaring at his shoulders before he declared, "I am not here for the drink."

The man put down his cloth next and placed both palms flat on the counter, "Then let me see some Reales first if it's information ya need. Didn't ye know? Nothin' in this world comes free, mate."

"I wish to enquire about a girl. She was here last night."

"We got plenty of girls here. If you want a name then it's one hundred Reales." said the tender, "Pay up or get out."

"I will describe her first," Julien said, and he rubbed at the bottom of his chin as he contemplated, "She was about...this height," He gestured to the empty space beside him with his hand, "She was wearing a blue dress...had long brown hair about this length. Blue eyes."

"I might know who she is. Let me see the Reales first."

Julien let out a scoff that it had come down to this. "_Merde_..." He muttered under his breath, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"What was that?"

He ignored the question and grunted out, "Will you settle for fifty?"

"Seventy."

"Sixty five."

The tender gave him a fierce look of clear disdain. "...Seventy."

"Sixty five." Julien retorted in response to the glower that had been aimed at his direction. "No more."

A silence spawned between the two men, with neither side backing down from their intense staring match. A few servants had stopped in their cleaning pursuits to see what the ruckus was about, only to witness the men engaged in a silent battle. Eventually, the tender's eyes dropped to the pistols attached to Julien's belt and reluctantly, he nodded. "F-fine." He grunted, turning away in defeat, "The name was Charlotte, I think."

"Will this 'Charlotte' be here tonight?"

He shrugged, "I don't know, mate. She wasn't good. Madame Rose wasn't happy with her." He replied, before he threw a glance to Julien, eyeing him from head to toe, "...You've taken quite the fancy to her, haven't you? Won't be the first time a man's taken a liking to one of our girls. We're quite popular like that."

Julien reached into his pouch and put down the coins as promised and said nothing to that remark, "And where can I find _Charlotte_?"

"She's usually with the other girls at the market. If not, then she'll be at Madame Rose's."

"Very good. Thank you for sharing this information, monsieur."

"Hmph." snorted the tender, before he took one look at the pouch of coins, grabbed it and stuffed it down his front. Making money off lovestruck, gullible fools like that man sure was easy...


End file.
